Page 101 of Icing Hearts

Despite my cool approach, my heart hammers in my chest. For three years, I’ve been terrified for Clara to find out the truth about my family. And for the last year, I’ve hidden the truth about her mother.

A verse pops into my mind, thanks to my days at Catechism. John 8:32 “The truth shall set you free.”

The only card I have left to play is that he thinks I won’t tell her. That I can’t risk it. He thinks he can hang the truth over my head and use it to control me. He needs to keep believing the lie until I work up the nerve to tell her once and for all. Like I should have done months ago.

Then we’ll both be free.

Chapter 62

Clara

Tory has been acting weird. Weirder than usual, at least. I don’t think that anyone else would notice. But I do. I always have. It’s in the way he breaks eye contact a little too soon. Or how he doesn’t linger after history and take extra time putting his things in his bookbag so we walk out at the same time. In the week since Tory and I had that beautiful night on the anniversary of my mother’s death, he hasn’t sat with us at lunch.

Something is eating away at him. Something big. The way the secret of my father’s abuse ate away at me until I let Tory find out.

Today he extends an olive branch. In history, we move our desks next to one another as usual. At least that hasn’t changed. Halfway through class, he passes me a note:Wait for me after class.

Okay, I write back with a smiley face. A lopsided grin cracks his otherwise somber demeanor when he sees the doodle. For the rest of class, I hear him turning the note over and over in his pocket.

My mind races as I take diligent notes. Mr. M makes it easy today and writes all the notes on the board with an aqua dry-erase marker. Usually, he lectures or makes a slideshow and I have to organize my notes into a hierarchy on my own. But today, he makes an outline with bullet points and asterisks and Roman numerals. Which is good, because I can feel the warmth of Tory’s left arm beside mine, while his right hand stays in that pocket—not taking any notes at all. He had started taking notes, but this week he hasn’t. I’ve offered mine but he keeps refusing with a terse shake of his head at the end of each class.

When the bell rings, neither of us move. We both stare straight ahead—at the aqua notes still scrawled across the board. Everyone else files out quickly, grabbing their bags and engaging in horseplay.

“Do you still need these?” Mr. M asks, pointing to the board with his thumb.

Tory nods and I think the response is designed to get Mr. M out of the room as expediently as possible. I give our teacher a sheepish grin. He casts us a sidelong glance but Mr. M has better things to do than babysit so he leaves us alone.

Lunch is next, thanks to our rotating schedule. The bell rings to signify the end of passing time and the start of the next period. Motion in the hallway subsides and I hear teachers in the classroom across the hall getting started with their lesson. A chorus of students chimes a greeting to their instructor. My stomach feels a little empty and lets out a low growl which seems to spur Tory on to action.

He turns to face me and I do the same, angling sideways in my seat so we’re knee to knee. The beautiful boy leans forward and rests his forearms on his knees. And it’s just us and the quiet tick of the clock, signifying the passing of time—reminding me that it’s only my world that stands still when he looks at me.

“How are you?” he asks. “I mean, since last week. How are you, really?”

I sigh, knowing I can’t hide from his question or give him a canned response the way I would answer almost everyone else in the world. “I’m okay. That day is always incredibly difficult for me.”

He nods and breathes in deep. “You seem back to your usual self.”

“You don’t. You’ve been kind of distant since then.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I’ve had so much on my mind. It’s not your fault.”

“Of course it isn’t. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

He lets out a breathy laugh. “Glad you’re aware of your perfection.”

Tory reaches out and traces circles on my knees. He shouldn’t do that. I have a boyfriend. But after that night, I feel like we’re past normal rules. Vince will never be to me what Tory is to me. He’ll never compare.

“Are you okay?” I ask him.

Tory takes in a sharp breath and clears his throat before shaking his head. “No, Clara. I’m not. I haven’t been for a while.”

I feel my brow furrow. Secrets. He’s told me he has secrets. But has he ever revealed any? “What’s going on?”

“Do you have plans tonight?” he asks me.

“Just homework.”

“Can we hang out?”

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